


fixations

by adjourn



Category: Suits (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, M/M, Obsessive Behavior, Psychopathology & Sociopathy, Serial Killer Mike, Unreliable Narrator, but things are still pretty much the same
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-17
Updated: 2016-07-17
Packaged: 2018-07-23 21:46:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,034
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7481208
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/adjourn/pseuds/adjourn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harvey.</p>
            </blockquote>





	fixations

**Author's Note:**

> i have a thing for writing my faves as psychos and i needed to get this out of my system lol. in case anyone else enjoys this shit, here it is for your viewing pleasure

Mike only does it occasionally. It's not a grand event, nothing special; it's just that sometimes, when he's feeling uncomfortable in his own skin, when his head is swimming with work — legal codes and leads and Harvey, Harvey, Harvey — he goes out and picks up a guy (brunette, square jaw, at a gay bar, always alone, looking nervous like he doesn't want to be found but he wants to be there), takes him some place private and slices him up until Mike's head is empty and his hands stop shaking. 

He doesn't do it very often. Once a month, if that. He knows it's a risk, especially if anyone happens to stumble upon his trophies. That happened before when he was focused on a different subject (pretty blonde girls), and it had triggered an investigation of surprising intensity, making words like "serial killer" and "city-wide curfew" crackle from his cheap television set. 

Anyway, Mike isn't anything as sinister as a serial killer. He just has a hobby to help him relieve stress — not, if you asked him, altogether different from fishing.

 

.

 

"Remember I need the McKellar briefs on my desk by noon," Harvey says as he passes Mike's cubicle.

"Just finished," Mike calls at his back. It's a very lovely back. Still, as much as Mike likes it, he's happier when Harvey turns to face him, a pleased half-smile pulling at his lips. Gorgeous.

"Come on then, kid," Harvey says. Mike doesn't like it when Harvey calls him that, but he loves the way his mouth shapes it with affection. "My office."

Harvey pivots on his heel and walks off, stride so confident, so self-assured that Mike wonders what it would be like to —

Mike clears his throat, gathers the folders on his desk, and follows Harvey. He'll have to go out soon. Scout. Tomorrow, perhaps tonight. 

 

.

 

It's summer and the weather is warm. Mike, from the days when he was broke, is in the habit of never turning on the air conditioning. On night's like this, he usually spreads himself flat beneath his ceiling fan and recites something: 100,000 digits of pi or _Finnegan's Wake_ , for instance. He appreciates those two because they mean absolutely nothing to him and probably never will.

An annoying number of things mean something to him. Too much going on in the old skull, he supposes.

Tonight, however, is not one of those typical nights. Harvey has invited him over to his apartment for drinks to celebrate closing a multi-million dollar deal. Mike isn't exactly sure what the cause for celebration is. Statistically, Harvey had a 97.3 percent chance of success, and he hasn't done this with Mike after wrapping up far more impressive cases.

"You performed well today," Harvey says, raising his glass. Scotch. Harvey is delightfully predictable.

Mike obediently clinks their glasses together, pulling his legs up onto the couch. "Thanks, Captain."

Harvey must sense something insincere in his response, because he follows up with: "No, really. You were invaluable to me today," which is barely even true.

Ah. Mike knows what Harvey wants. He ducks his head and blushes, then meets Harvey's eyes with an appropriate amount of reverence in his delighted expression. "Invaluable, huh?" he teases. It's an interesting character to play. Hero worship with flashes of challenge. Keep the man on his toes.

"I don't repeat myself," Harvey says. Huskily. He's a lot closer than Mike had realized. Harvey's arm is draped possessively around his shoulders; Mike is curled into him like an adoring puppy.

Harvey leans in and kisses him. Mike purrs, grabs the lapels of Harvey's suit and draws him in deeper. They make out on the couch like teenagers (Trevor, Mike recalls faintly), and Mike is mouthing at the pulse point on Harvey's neck when he thinks: _shit, better not_. He pulls back. Harvey looks at him, more confused than Mike's ever seen him.

"We probably shouldn't do this," Mike says. He forgets to add a distraught stammer, but Harvey's distracted anyway.

The light in Harvey's eyes dims. He doesn't say anything for a few moments. "You're right," he finally grits out.

"It's just — you're my boss, and I think you're really hot, and I like you, I do, but," Mike remembers the distress this time, "you're … you know. And I'm me. It couldn't work," he finishes glumly.

Harvey's face is stone-cold stiff. Carved from marble. David, by Michaelangelo, 26 years old. Commissioned by Opera del Duomo, 17 feet, Book 1 Samuel, Now the Philistines gathered their forces for war and assembled at Sokoh in Judah.

"Obviously. Ever heard of a one-night-stand, kid? You can't really think I was looking to date you," Harvey says coolly. 

He's lying. Harvey pretty clearly has actual feelings for him. Of course, Mike wouldn't be able to deduce that, so he flushes a humiliated red and stands up. "Sorry to waste your time," Mike snaps, and flees.

When he gets back to his apartment, he jerks off to the immaculate memory of kissing Harvey. As he cleans up, throwing crumpled tissues into the trash can, he briefly regrets his decision. But then again, Mike has learned his lesson about engaging in romantic relationships with people he loves.

Just look at how Trevor turned out.

 

.

 

At work the next morning, Harvey treats him the same as always. Mike finds this comforting. Then he notices that Harvey, despite displaying no significant difference in the way he addresses Mike or piles work on him, does not look Mike in the eye. That's not great. Mike likes, very much, looking into Harvey's eyes.

At 9:52 a.m., the news app on his phone alerts Mike that a body washed up on the shore of the Hudson River. Or at least several parts of a body.

So that's a thing, too.

 

.

 

Mike couldn't care less about corporate law. Or any kind of law, for that matter. It, like nearly every other subject he's studied, is a dull, human undertaking. 

However, Mike cares about his job quite a bit. The too-frequent, nervous panicking he displays for Harvey, whether it be about getting fired or fucking up a case or not having an actual degree, is more real than not. Mike likes working at Pearson Hardman. He likes opening his eyes at 6:15 a.m. after having already laid awake for 30 minutes remembering each fine detail of Harvey's face, and getting into work at 7, which is when Harvey comes in 43 percent of the time (a plurality percentage, good enough). He likes leaving the office anytime from 7 to 12, whenever he thinks Harvey will prefer. He likes catching glimpses of Harvey throughout the day. He likes handing Harvey his work and watching him pretend to be unimpressed. He likes losing himself in research, his body and brain operating mechanically while his mind dreams, clouded, about Harvey.

Mike does not want to lose his job. He will definitely lose his job if he's found responsible for the body parts in the river.

He'll have to be very careful for a while. 

 

.

 

"Mike. Turn off your phone." 

Mike startles at the venom in Harvey's voice, looking up at him instead of immediately obeying. "What? Why?" 

Harvey fixes him with an irritated glance, then returns to his papers. "Because if you're too busy being distracted by texts from your girlfriend, then you're not being useful to me. And that's what you're here for."

"I don't — I wasn't," Mike sputters before collecting himself. He holds up his phone screen to Harvey, "I was reading the news. They found more bodies by the river. Well. Body parts."

Harvey briefly scans the article. Mike suppresses a shiver at the sight of Harvey reading about his work. "Also, I don't have a girlfriend," Mike can't help but add. His voice is perhaps lower, more throaty than appropriate. If Harvey was to look at him, he'd see the desire written all over Mike's face.

But Harvey sticks to his persistent (going on two weeks) policy of avoiding Mike's gaze. He pointedly turns back to the papers. "Fascinating. Irrelevant to the case. Get back to work, rookie."

His words are far less cutting now. Mike marvels at how transparent Harvey is when it comes to him.

 

.

 

Mike fucks up. Again. For someone with a perfect memory, he tends to fuck up a lot. Kind of amazing, really — Harvey's words, not his.

He forgets to bring the contracts when they go to meet with a client. An important one, too, a billion-dollar gal. When Harvey asks for them, Mike shuffles through his briefcase, pales, then starts stammering apologies. Harvey looks as if he might strangle Mike then and there. Mike shuts up. His toes curl.

The client leaves, scoffing, after deflecting Harvey's attempts to arrange another meeting.

"What the hell was that," Harvey says flatly. It's the voice he uses when he's about to flip shit and threaten to fire Mike.

"I'm so sorry Harvey, I don't know how I—" Mike begins, eyes wide and pleading.

"How you forgot? Yeah, I don't know how you forgot, either, considering you have an eidetic memory. Which is the only reason I hired you, in case you forgot. And if you're losing that, if you pull another stunt like this, I won't hesitate to fire you." Harvey visibly stops himself from saying anything more. He takes a deep breath and stalks off.

"Harvey," Mike says, crestfallen, knowing Harvey can hear it as he goes. He really is sad. He hates it when Harvey is genuinely disappointed with him. Annoyed or angry, he can handle; those are even exciting. Tension is a necessary component of a good relationship. But disappointment breaks Mike a little.

He's been distracted and forgetful this past month. They've found nearly every one of the bodies from his current subject, and now they're hunting for his trophies.

No matter the situation, Mike needs to focus. He can't have Harvey being disappointed in him. Mike will fix this.

 

.

 

"You rang?" Mike says hesitantly as he enters Harvey's office.

"You know, Mike, I've made it pretty clear that I don't appreciate you going behind my back," Harvey says, posed by the glass windows like a model. 

Mike swallows and bites his lip nervously. Harvey's eyes track the motions, darkening with lust, but he continues. What a trooper. "But whatever you did, it worked. Marina wants to meet with us again. Today, over lunch."

Harvey smiles, warm and proud, looking Mike in the eye. Mike's heart stops in its chest. 

"Good job, kid," Harvey says. Then he shifts back to stern. "Don't forget the contracts again. And don't meet with clients without me."

Absurd. Mike would never invite him to a meeting like that.

 

.

 

Marina spends the entire lunch eyeing Mike. Her poker face is fantastic. He can barely see the fear. Harvey definitely doesn't see it; he attributes the staring to Mike's "blistering incompetence" from the other day.

"Probably waiting to see if you'll screw something up," Harvey remarks, not entirely unkindly, on their walk back to the offices.

"Haha," Mike says, and attempts to dead-leg him.

Harvey dodges, then stops in his tracks. He raises an eyebrow at Mike. "Did you really just do that? Are we 12?"

"We?" Mike repeats. He stumbles sideways when Harvey swiftly knees him, catching Mike off guard. "Oh, you're going to pay for that."

It is a rare instance that Harvey plays anything other than his assigned part of ruthless lawyer during work hours. Mike treasures it like he treasures each and every part of Harvey.

 

.

 

Scottie is back in town. She has the audacity to visit the building, and Mike knows that if Harvey's office wasn't made entirely of glass, they'd be fucking in it. Mike sits at his desk and considers killing her.

"The firm doesn't pay you to chase butterflies, Michael," Louis says, leaning on Mike's cubicle with well-practiced condescension.

Mike smiles tightly and nods. "Message received," he says, pops his earbuds in, and bends to proof documents again. He feels Louis still watching, curious at his easy submission.

Normally, he might engage in some light banter with Louis, just for appearances. He doesn't actually dislike Louis, excepting the times he gets in Harvey's way. Then, he really, really does not like Louis.

Mike is not in the mood for appearances today. He thinks about Scottie flirting with Harvey, touching him, loving him, and presses the pen-tip down so hard it snaps.

A news alert interrupts his music. Mike reads. Confirmed serial killer. 

 

.

 

Mike may be running out of time. With Jenny out of his life and therefore zero inside knowledge of the police investigation, he's fumbling in the dark to cover his tracks. Although he doesn't have many tracks to cover. Mike didn't get this far by being sloppy. 

Still, he's unsure of how this disaster will end. He might be found out, in which case he'll lose his job. He won't be able to see Harvey.

He goes to see Harvey.

"Mike," Harvey says, surprised to find Mike at his door. Nervous. Embarrassed. Rare sights on Harvey. Mike drinks it all in.

Mike says, with a sheepish smile, charming and boyish and just the right amount of uncertain, "Can I come in? I need to talk to you."

Harvey smiles, but doesn't move from the doorway. It's not the response Mike was expecting. "Can it wait? Scottie is staying over while she's in town. So I'm … a little busy."

Mike stares. His brain is screaming.

"Hey, kid," Harvey says slowly. "Are you okay?"

I'm going to kill someone, Mike thinks.

"Fine. Sorry to interrupt." He forgets to add any sort of inflection, but leaves before Harvey can comment on it.

 

.

 

This was not the plan. Harvey should be his completely. Doesn't Harvey love him? Like Mike loves Harvey? 

He must.

 

.

 

"You're gorgeous, Harvey," Mike says, cupping Harvey's cheek. He strokes the high bones of his face, beautifully solid beneath his fingertips, presses his thumb against the square jaw.

The eyes are too light though. Not the right shade of brown. Disgusting.

 

.

 

Scottie has not yet flown back to London. Harvey treats Mike the same as ever. Mike doesn't know what to make of this — from the way they interacted with each other, he'd thought that Harvey was in love with him. The casual dismissal he'd been met with the other night indicated otherwise.

Mike isn't stupid. He is aware that you can love two people at once. Not Harvey though. He can only love Mike. Yet, Scottie.

This paradox haunts him. He spends an inordinate amount of time talking to Donna or casually walking past Harvey's office when Scottie is in, trying to catch bits and pieces of their conversations.

"Guilty," Scottie says.

"In the way," Scottie says.

"Bad for you," Scottie says.

Mike is waiting to hear his own name.

 

.

 

"…They've managed to identify most of the victims," Jessica says. "Terrible business."

They're all at a company party, standing around and drinking flutes of champagne, doing what they do best: talking, talking, talking. Mike feels like all anyone talks about is the bodies. Of course, he only pays attention when the conversation is focused on the bodies. Or if it's Harvey speaking.

"Terrible it took them so long," Harvey says. "If the NYPD had our investigative skills, the sicko would be behind bars by now."

Sicko. Mike is faintly nauseous. "This is a great party topic, guys," he complains. "Guys and ma'am. Ms. Pearson."

He is, unsurprisingly, ignored. 

"Have you seen the photos?" Louis says, smug as ever. "They all kind of look like you, Harvey."

Every single one of them turns to look at Mike. He pales and takes a step back. There is a guillotine over his head. He can see it, glistening. Wet.

"Are you okay, Mike?" Harvey says, brows knitted. "You look like you're going to be sick."

Mike flees.

 

.

 

Harvey finds him in the bathroom throwing up dinner. And all the alcohol he consumed at the party.

"I didn't know you were so squeamish," Harvey says, masking his concern with amusement.

"Too much to drink," Mike half-lies. He had drank a bit more than was wise, but that wasn't the real reason he felt like hurling.

Harvey flushes the toilet for him. Then he kneels, on the bathroom floor, however clean, in his couple-thousand dollar suit in order to rub comforting circles into Mike's back.

"You're alright," he says. 

Mike finds that he very much is. He forces himself to vomit one more time. For Harvey's sake.

 

.

 

Citing concern over his associate's health, Harvey leaves the party early (ignoring Jessica's unimpressed look) and takes Mike to his apartment, which is conspicuously absent of any dark-haired women.

"Isn't Scottie…?" Mike trails off, slightly fearful of the answer.

"We thought it would be best to keep things professional between us," Harvey says. Oh.

"Do you have an extra toothbrush?" Mike asks.

He brushes very thoroughly and rinses with mouthwash. He smiles toothily at the mirror. Sparkling clean.

 

.

 

Him and Harvey don't have sex that night, much to Mike's disappointment, but they do the next morning. It's transcendent. It's everything Mike dreamed of. Harvey comes inside him, Mike's name a half-prayer on his lips, and cleans the mess off Mike's stomach with tongue, and they kiss, wet and filthy, until Harvey falls asleep again, cradled in Mike's arms. They breathe as one, and Mike memorizes the slow thump of Harvey's resting pulse.

Harvey is the most incredible being alive, and he's all Mike's. He could die from joy.

 

.

 

Harvey is different from Trevor. He loves Mike, lets himself be owned, and that's enough to unfurl the tight tangle in Mike's belly, to soothe his aching limbs, begging for sweet deliverance.

Things turn beautifully routine. Mike and Harvey go on dates, though they keep any physical affection in private. Mike spends more time in Harvey's apartment than his own, and they both spend far more time at the office. Work continues as usual. The news reports thin, distanced by slowly dwindling public interest and a lack of leads. The police are giving up.

Mike lets himself believe that things will be alright.

**Author's Note:**

> inspirations: school days, mirai nikki. o how i love yanderes
> 
> considerations: i had (have) a lot of ideas for the sordid details of mike's habits, but i elected not to include them. half out of sheer laziness, and half because i wanted to keep this not graphic ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯


End file.
